Raising Guilt
by heterotalia
Summary: When America dies in a car crash, France convinces Arthur to raise Alfred's child. Rated T for gore
1. Chapter 1

His sky blue eyes emptied of the cheer and pride they once carried so boastfully, glazed over and opened wide, stuck in eternal shock. Shards of glass pierced through his rich, tan skin now stained with the dark crimson of his own blood. Arthur's emerald eyes could hardly bring themselves to look up past his shoulders. A piece of the shattered windshield had burrowed through the American's neck, blood steadily dripping from the open wound.

Arthur was hardly damaged aside from several minor scratches covering his face and arms. They stung badly, but it was nothing compared to the emotional damaged he was suffering from simultaneously. It was his fault. The shouts of argument they exchanged over just minutes ago still rung in his ears. Arthur had sat in the seat behind Alfred. He was notorious for having a nasty temper but he had gone too far, crossed the line, and in result it had ended someone's life.

Hot tears burned at his eyelids, threatening to fall. Arthur didn't even have the energy to fight it as warm tears streaked down his face, falling hard. He collapsed in a wail of sobs, burying his face in his hands and gripping his blonde locks tightly, nearly ripping it out of his scalp. When he finally snapped out of his hysterical state, the sun had nearly completely melted beneath the horizon in a blend of milky colors.

His eyes were bloodshot from the constant sobs, his voice hoarse from moaning Alfred's name. He turned away from the bloodied corpse, unable to bring himself to even catch a glimpse of his demolished friend. Arthur whipped his phone from his pocket, quickly dialing the emergency number.

Days passed, maybe weeks. Petty things such as dates served no purpose the grieving man. He hadn't left his house, lost contact with any outside member. He stayed locked up in his room, only leaving for the occasional bathroom break or meal. The isolation he kept himself in had long since driven him mad, even his own reflection causing him to shriek in fright.

His eyes darted over his scattered room; a smashed phone, a pile of filthy clothing and a broken tea set was all that remained. A fist rapped against his door, the sudden noise nearly giving him a heart attack as he peeked through the crack.

"Angleterre…?" a familiar French accent called out to him, golden hair immediately giving away his identity, "I 'ave been worried about 'ou, but 'ou 'aven't even answered your phone, mon cher…" his voiced cracked mid-sentence.

"I'm fine. Truly fantastic. Nice seeing you, frog. Good bye." He responded quickly, slamming the door. Francis' hand snapped out, stopping the door before it locked him out and stepped inside.

"Arthur, zhis ees not 'ealthy." His voice's charming aspect had been replaced by a stern, unfamiliar voice, the smile vanishing from his lips, "We all miss Alfred but zhis ees not zhe way to 'andle it. I will drag 'ou out of 'ere myself if I 'ave too."

"I know…" a hesitated response escaped his lips feebly as he hung his head in shame, tears forming in his eyes as he blindly wiped at them, "But it's my fault. If I had just kept my bloody temper!" he wailed, turning away from the other in a fit of hysterics.

"Mon ami…" he picked up, after his breakdown had begun to fade, "What exactly 'appened in zhat car ride…?" His blue eyes sparkled with pained curiosity and he stared down at the other hopefully.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to respond for several minutes, trapped in the horrifying memory as the situation replayed itself in his head. "I hate you…" his words were spoken with difficulty, the Brit's soft accent made himself sound all the more pitiful.

"Moi? What did I do?!" France shouted back quickly in defense, eyes flaring.

"Those were the last words I said to him…" Arthur responded hoarsely, a single tear creeping down the side of his face, "He had gotten a woman pregnant. A human woman. He wanted to raise the child, but I insisted work was more important…"

"Et?" the French man encouraged, eyes dotting with tears.

"He got angry… Told me I was horrible, that I was a bad father… and I got mad. My stupid bloody temper got the better of me… I kicked his chair hard and he lost control of the car…" sorrow followed each syllable he spoke, guilt tearing him apart.

"Well, 'ou could always do eet. 'Ou could raise zhe child for 'im. 'E would 'ave liked zhat," Francis mumbled quietly, hope filling his words as he glanced at England.

"N-No way am I doing that…!" Arthur yelled without thinking but quickly shut his mouth to reconsider, "Well… well maybe I shall…"


	2. Unexpected Happiness

A month since France had last visited, the Brit found himself waking up at the crack of dawn to silence a baby girl. He yawned and dragged a hand through his tousled blonde hair, eyes dropping from lack of sleep. Arthur picked up the small child, her shining blue eyes piercing through the dark, sparkling with tears.

"Hush…" England whispered as he took a seat, placing the whimpering child on his lap and bouncing his knee slowly. Amelia. The beautiful baby was named by her mother, a sickly woman who could hardly afford money for herself, much less support a child.

He brought his lips up against the baby's warm forehead as she squirmed happily, planting a subtle kiss. A broad grin shone through her tearstained face, giggling delightfully now that Arthur had paid her some attention.

"Now go to sleep, dear…" he sighed, placing her back in the cramped crib and pulling the bed sheets up to her chin before walking out.

Raising a child was extremely difficult and had taken a toll on him both physically and mentally. Even rolling out of bed in the morning was a struggle after spending all night with an upset baby. But it was worth it to him as he slowly grew to love the child.

Years dragged on, harsh memories and old wounds healed as he watched his little girl grow up. Her elementary school graduation, middle school passed by in the blink of an eye and he found himself staring up at the thirteen year old as she giggled with her friends, eyes glinting with excitement for Summer break.

Although he loved her unconditionally, her sight constantly haunted him with the memory of her father. Shoulder length honey-blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes. They were practically identical and it tore him apart. He slowly approached the cluster of girls with a smile, tapping Amelia's shoulder.

"It's time to go, love." He told her with a small smile, "Now wave goodbye to your friends."

"But dad!" she whined, brushing a mess of hair over her shoulder, "Ugh, fine, bye guys!" she waved, skipping off towards the car.

Time ticked by and life moved on. Amelia grew up and fell in love, Arthur became drown in work and slowly they grew apart, and work filled their gap. It had been months since they last spoke as Arthur tapped a pencil irritably against his mahogany desk, deep in thought. His daydreams were interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name.

"Dad!" Amelia smiled, opening his door. Arthur's jaw dropped in astonishment by how much she had changed. Blonde locks pinned up with the exception of a few strands brushing her shoulders, long, delicate eyelashes, brilliantly tan skin.

"A-Amelia… you've… grown." He sputtered, standing up to embrace her with a tight hug, "Why the sudden appearance?"

"Um, well… I kinda got engaged!" she squealed happily, eyes shining.


End file.
